


Natasha's Cure

by MilkJelly



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-06 23:42:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19073068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MilkJelly/pseuds/MilkJelly
Summary: Natasha runs an orphanage after Thanos' snap and helps patch up the shattered universe. James Buchannan Barnes isn't there to see it.a.k.a. I originally planned this to be a multi-chapter work but ended up making it a one-shot because I really didn't have enough content to make it that long.a.k.a. A one-shot exploratory essay of Bucky and Natasha's relationship.





	Natasha's Cure

Natasha Romanoff sighs into the silent darkness as she steps into her room in the Avengers headquarters. She has deactivated the intelligent ambiance system in her quarters. The new Natasha Romanoff prefers the little ceremony of turning on the lights herself, as well as the uninterrupted solitude. Her determination, her grief, and her hatred brew into a pot of colors inside the darkness of her residence, its scent an aroma overly fragrant, so stimulating that she would regurgitate her memories over and over until her pores are saturated with the ashes from that fateful day.

She would sit in the darkness for hours, mourning their loss and their lost opportunity, before she returns to her little briefing room to continue her tireless pursuit for a cure. A cure for the left. A way to piece together the shattered pieces of the post-Thanos universe.

She can’t say that she has found it. The remaining Avengers have been trying. Most of the times it is just her and Steve, sitting across from each other, chewing on cold sandwiches in silence. Sometimes they would look at each other and smile. Captain America continues to offer people hope, and so does she. When she is not at the Avengers building, she is often at her orphanage, battling to give every one of the left children a home. This is her cure for them.

Natasha stares into the half-dead city outside. Half of the lights used to shine. Her warm breaths fog against the cold glass pane. She remembers how her children would also fog up the glass and draw with their fingers. It can be a vibrant smiley face, a pumping heart, or their own names. Sometimes it’s words such as “mom” and “dad” and “family”. She remembers how her kids cried when they were sent to the orphanage, their hearts torn apart by Thanos’ snap. Ashes. Ashes in the wind, in the grass, in the rivers. Ashes that used to be parents and children, friends and lovers. 

She could see the fear in the children’s eyes as they shivered under the blankets. A girl was watching her favorite cartoon with her parents when it happened. A boy suddenly could no longer feel his father pushing him on the swing. A twin lost her other twin when they were in the cradle, and they found her sobbing and almost choking on her saliva. 

Steve would help, too. Kids these days are a bit more familiar with Captain America than the Black Widow anyway. They see his blonde hair and tender blue eyes and their expressions would brighten up. Will you be able to save my papa and mama? They would ask. And Steve would press his lips together to hide the flash of sorrow in his eyes.

Only the best for these children, she would say. Days were rough when manufacturing was slowed down by the reduction in the workforce, but they pulled through. And now, three years after Thanos, the orphanage can finally give the residents the softest of blankets, the warmest of clothes, the tastiest of foods, the freshest of milk. She will teach these children everything they want to learn. When soft smiles emerge on her children’s little faces, she would know it is worth it. She does her best to offer these children a home, a complete luxury for Natalia Romanova.

Natasha presses her forehead against the chilly, stern glass. A little girl she met today reminds her of her own childhood. Isabella is her name. Flaming red hair. She recently turned 9 years old. When Natasha looks at Isabella she sees the sparks in the little girl’s grey eyes.

Let me help. The little girl insists. Let me get my parents back. I can learn how. Let me fight too, please.

Natasha did also start very young. She cannot remember much prior to her years at the academy, although sometimes when her dreams are not tainted with blood, she sees the lonely snows of Russia and hears voices imbued with warmth and joy.

James Barnes used to say that she has sparks in her eyes. In an admiring way.

He patted her head exactly twice. Both times with his left hand. His quiet warmth against her blood red hair. The first time she shrank away from his touch by instinct; the second time she learned to enjoy it.

James Barnes and Natalia Romanova weren’t exactly each other’s cure. They were each other’s painkillers. Now that he is gone, along with the others, Natasha sometimes wonders if she can be a better cure.

 

“Sometimes I wonder what is on your mind, then I would decide not to ask.”

“Sure, don’t let me ruin your appetite.”

Natasha and Steve fork their pasta in their briefing room. A meeting just finished, and the universe has been uneventful. Clint hasn’t done much recently, which makes it hard for them to track him. Natasha cannot do much but let the issue rest for a while. 

“A kid drew a picture of you today, by the way.” Natasha pulls out a folded piece of paper from her hoodie pocket and slides it over to Steve, “his name is Tommy. You might remember him, he was the little boy who asked if he can touch your shield.” It is a simple crayon drawing of a disproportionate Captain America, drawn with lively blues and reds and yellows and black. At the bottom right of the page, there is a squiggly signature: Tommy.

Steve looks down at the picture and chuckles, then they are both silent for a while.

“They still look up to us.”

Natasha pays him a faint smile, “they do.”

A heavy silence falls. They have had similar conversations multiple times, yet every time the silence still presses against their skulls, crushing them.

“Don’t blame yourself too much. It’s not your fault.”

Natasha reaches across the table to take hold of Steve’s hand. She is all he has at the current moment. They comfort one another, like injured beasts licking each other’s wounds. She knows she cannot cure him; a man with a sense of responsibility like Steve Rogers has scars that can never be healed.

James Barnes was very difficult to heal as well. It’s not that she doesn’t understand it is not her duty to heal James. Her heart is simply submerged in acid every time she is reminded of James’ scars. She flinched the first time she tried to imagine his pain, his confusion, his rage and helplessness melting down into a blank slate. After the initial heartache emerged silent anger crawling underneath her skin. And every single time she thinks about his agony after that, there is only bone-chilling fury.

I will hunt down whoever has hurt you and shred them to pieces.

That was the first thing on her mind when she and Steve set off to destroy the Hydra headquarters in 2014.

Apparently, Steve and Bucky might have had a stronger connection than Natasha and James. She heard about how James’ conscience weighed on him, how his old self slowly returned to him, how Steve coaxed Bucky back into him. Maybe she has lost her Winter Soldier a while ago. She never knew Bucky. She only knew James, the efficient killing machine whose name spikes terror, but also the lover who would occasionally allow her to win in the arena. She remembers pulling James up triumphantly from the training room floor after winning the Winter Soldier for the first time, the room humid and warm, his slightly sweaty palm against hers. “Not half bad, Natalia,” he said, the sun glimmering in his blue eyes, softening his expression even further.

At first, neither of them knew how. Then the tenderness tinted their hearts, making those lumps of flesh beat in their chests. They were flint stones, two cold, tough entities colliding to give birth to the most scorching heat, at least to the both of them.

James used to come to the Red Room to see her dance, in his full sturdy armors too. His presence was out of place in that room clustered with pastel ballet dresses. She would occasionally sneak a peek at him, and he would reply with the slightest of nods. Like a dragonfly dipping its tail into the water. And that would be enough.

James had a special smile reserved for her. She was perhaps the only person during that part of Winter Soldier’s life who knew that James Buchannan Barnes had dimples. Very pleasant ones too. When he looked at her with admiration and quiet affection in his eyes, she would sometimes feel that she was but a normal human.

They never had many loving words towards one another, but there was always a passion. They would spend every day together as if it was the end of the world. Death loomed in their paths every day, keeping them alert.

The ember from their love affair glowed in Natasha’s eyes.

Steve takes a deep breath and looks up to her, “even though it is not our fault… we bear those responsibilities too. But thank you. I have learned to forgive myself a little.”

People like Steve and Natasha don’t move on. 

James moved on sometimes, but it usually involved coercion and excruciating pain.

 

It can be difficult for her too, to be honest. The children were confused. And sometimes, so is she. She provides the best materials to her abilities. As for hope, she is not sure. A sense of security is the least she can offer.

She does her best to visit every one of her children daily. In the beginning, there would be about one hundred kids coming to their refuge every day. Children are often tougher than they look, and she knows it better than anyone else. She has seen 10-year-olds driving 6 hours and arriving fatigued and grim. She would sit them down, give them a cup of hot chocolate, and listen.

She told them they could trust her, opposite to what she was told as a child.

Trust no one. Always shoot a second time. People are tools.

She killed at the age of 16. She still recalls the reaction force of that gun. The victim’s blood stank, a pulsating scarlet fountain. 

No child should ever go through it.

Yet watching their parents and friends perish in front of their eyes is no better. 

 

Watching James scatter into a gust of wind was far, far worse than seeing him frozen.

The Winter Soldier was one of the toughest humans she knew. He had a flawless record, always fierce and fearless during battles. He never had anything to lose, and neither did she. Even their romance didn’t reduce them to each other’s weakness, for both of them were capable of defending themselves for whatever there would be to come; yet when Thanos appeared, they were both defenseless.

She sometimes feels like a puppet, like she has no grasp around her destiny. The total randomness and proclaimed “fairness” of Thanos’ snap mocks. It could have been her.

Uniting the rest of the forces together is her form of combating the sense of helplessness, to actively seek positive changes. She had attempted to compartmentalize, to force the images of her friends and fellow warriors out of her head, but the ashes drift back, day after day, the cumulated weight of half of the world population on her shoulders. Then she learned to embrace it, to accept all her responsibilities and her losses. There is no time for her to lose.

It is like how she managed through the years with him cryogenically frozen. Only this time it is more permanent. She lived without the hope of seeing him ever again during those years anyway. She has the experience.

 

“Natalia.”

“James.”

She murmurs in her dream.


End file.
